A Second Chance
by Auldearn
Summary: Straight up detective story - Takes place between 1 and 2
1. Chapter 1

Martin Riggs leaned back in his seat, fingers laced behind his head. Perhaps, he thought to himself, if he ignored it, it would quit. He looked away from the ringing telephone, deciding instead to amuse himself by watching his partner try to send a fax over to the Newton Division. For whatever strange reason, Roger seemed to have an uneasy coexistence with many forms of modern technology. Probably one of the reasons he still carried that damn wheel gun of his. At least it usually was good for a laugh.

"Goddamn it..." Roger muttered under his breath. A small smile appeared on Riggs's face as he began to enjoy the floorshow. Suddenly an exasperated groan issued out from across the bull-pen as the papers became tangled up for the 4th time now.

"Shit! Shit! I could'a walked them over to goddamn Newton by now!" Yanking the crumpled papers out of the machine, Roger rearranged them, trying his best to smooth out the wrinkles. He turned quickly, brows knitted down over his dark eyes. "Damn it, Riggs. Is there something wrong with your hearing? That phone's been ringing for five minutes now!"

Heaving a sigh, Martin glanced back over at the loathsome object, one hand absent-mindedly stirring his coffee. The blinking light indicated that the call was originating from the desk of Captain Murphy. He ran a thumbnail along his bottom lip, searching his mind for anything he had done to piss off his supervisor. Normally, his verbal matches with Murphy could be entertaining, but last night he hadn't slept at all; which left him this morning with a splitting headache and _NOT_ in the mood for his weekly ass-chewing. He took a sip of the tar-like coffee, hoping to jolt his system into overdrive.

"It's the Captain."

Roger reloaded the papers, jabbing the fax number back in violently. "You might as well answer it. He knows we're in. The man saw us walk by his office not more than fifteen minutes ago."

Riggs sat up, slamming the coffee cup down. "Murphy's more irritating than a case of the crabs..." he muttered, snatching up the receiver. "Riggs!"

"About damn time!" Captain Murphy barked into his ear. "I don't have time for your games, Riggs! In case you haven't noticed, I'm trying to run a police department here and---"

Leaning over, Martin dumped the receiver into the overflowing trash barrel by his desk. A satisfied look on his face, he walked over to the coffee machine, refilling his mug. Took a sip, smiling.

"Ah, the elixir of the gods..." Gulping down another swallow, he strode over to his still fuming partner.

Roger didn't look up but continued staring at the fax machine---busy signal---of course. Despite the fact that it was an inanimate object, he had the distinct feeling it was mocking him.

"What did the Captain want?"

"Hmmm...I'm not really sure."

"What do you mean you're not sure?" Glancing over his shoulder, Roger's eyes fell upon the receiver lying among the empty fast food containers and crumpled papers. Even from across the room, he could hear the Captain's voice buzzing out over the line like a cloud of angry bees. He turned back around without a word. What was the point? He had an easier time getting Nick to behave.

Making his way back over to his desk, Riggs fished out the phone, wiping off the spaghetti sauce that had already begun to congeal on the mouthpiece. He brought the receiver up. "Y' know, Captain," he said, interrupting Murphy in mid-yell," I think you do an_ EXCELLENT_ job running this department."

Murphy paused. "Riggs, can the shit---"

"No, really," purred Riggs, "I mean it."

"You and Murtaugh just get in my office pronto," Murphy growled, but his tone had grown softer.

Grinning, Riggs hung up the phone.

* * *

"Marcus Daley," muttered Captain Murphy, tossing out a thick file onto the desk towards the two detectives seated before him.

"Daley...Daley…" Roger frowned slightly as he opened the folder. "I recognize the name from somewhere."

"Well, I think your partner knows it very well." Murphy looked in Riggs's direction.

"You bet I do." Riggs gave a hard shake of his head, eyes glittering angrily. "Spent nearly a year of my life undercover trying to bust that son-of-a-bitch. Ran one of the biggest drug operations along the whole West Coast." Martin paused, one hand rubbing his chin. "Narcotics finally netted him over a year ago. Why are we involved?"

Murphy slurped down some coffee, waving over the file. "Knowing of your previous association with Daley, I imagine you've kept up some with the case?"

"I have."

"Then you know that the trial is set to start in two months."

"Yeah."

Murphy sighed, his own expression heavy. "Three witnesses were killed last night."

Martin's mouth set into a hard line. "Sounds like our man."

"How did it happen?" questioned Roger.

"Same MO for all three...one bullet to the head, two to the chest, all at their place of residence. No one knows anything. No witnesses of course."

"Of course," Roger muttered. "Pretty bold, isn't he? I mean to just execute them like that..."

"Believe me," replied Riggs, "this guy is an arrogant piece of shit. He doesn't care that everyone knows what he did. He _WANTS_ them to know. Daley thinks the law will never touch him."

"What about the other witnesses?"

"Under police protection, of course, but--" Murphy hitched his shoulders "--y' know how that goes. A couple of them have already developed severe cases of amnesia."

Roger shook his head. "You can hardly blame them."

Riggs leaned forward in the chair, his expression growing intense. "How strong is the DA's case against Daley without these witnesses?"

"So--so. It's possible they might get a conviction without them, but God knows they need all the help they can get. The man's as slippery as an eel."

Roger closed the file, looking at the Captain.

"It certainly would help the prosecutors' case if we could tie the murders back to Daley."

"That's what they're hoping for. It would be good for their public opinion to actually send one of these assholes to prison, and it sure as hell wouldn't hurt ours as well."

Murphy leaned back with a sigh, suddenly looking very old and tired. He shook his head, fingers massaging his eyes. "Do you know how many unsolved murders we already have hanging on the books? At this pace if we don't do something about our homicide clearance rate, we'll end up passing last year's record."

Martin and Roger exchanged a glum look before staring back down at the floor. They both knew to keep their mouths shut when this topic reared its ugly head.

Suddenly Murphy straightened back up, eyes blazing. "That's why I'm giving this case over to you. For one thing, Riggs already has information and experience dealing with this guy, and second, you two are my best detectives." He held a hand up at the sight of the grin beginning to stretch across Martin's face.

"Don't get a big head, Riggs. I'll deny it if you ever tell anyone I said that. But the fact is, you two usually produce results and we need that badly. This case is gonna bring a lot of publicity and heat down on us. We need to solve it."

"What about the cases already on our plate?"

"Divide them up between Walters and Muldrow. I want all your attention on Daley." He pointed a stern finger at them. "Just as a warning, the reporters are already all over this. I don't need to remind you, but make sure they aren't told shit. The last thing we need right now is for them to be interfering with this investigation." He rolled his shoulders forward, trying to unkink the knots that had begun to form. His breath came out in a long sharp exhale. "The Deputy Chief and I are the only mouthpieces on this one. Patch any inquires you get from the press to my desk and I'll take care of it."

The Captain dismissed them with a nod of his head. "Good luck."

Roger sighed as he hefted up the large file. "Thanks, I think we're gonna need it.


	2. Chapter 2

Roger couldn't recall the last time he had felt quite so tired. It was a heavy feeling that sunk all the way down into his very bones, making concentration a nearly impossible task. The papers in front of him suddenly began to blur. He tried unsuccessfully to focus on them again, and then gave up. Groaning, he rubbed his face, staring over at his partner, bleary-eyed.

"I'm beat, Martin. What'd ya say we take a break?"

"_NOW_ you're talking." Riggs laid a weary head down on top of his folded arms. "I need a triple espresso pumped directly into my veins..." he mumbled into the desktop.

The Scientific Investigation Division team had spent an entire week going over the three murder scenes with a fine-toothed comb. In the meantime, the detectives had dug through everything LAPD had concerning Daley, the last two days being spent with Martin's old cronies in Narcotics picking their brain for any further information. It was a difficult laborious process that had the two of them working long hours and both were running on nothing more than caffeine and pure will at this point. Even the normally hyper Martin was beginning to struggle with the weight of their efforts.

Riggs raised his head. "Give me just another minute, Rog. I've only got one more name to go." He yawned. Cracked his knuckles, then began typing furiously on the keyboard.

Over the years, LAPD had invested untold man-hours and resources trying to put together a case against Harris Daley. But like so many of the people inhabiting the top circles of the criminal world, he had remained frustratingly out of their reach. It was a process that had begun long before Martin Riggs had surrendered ten months of his life to the assignment---an assignment that had left him and two other detectives so deep undercover they had had no contact with fellow officers for its duration. And now, despite their best efforts, it was possible that he was about to slip through their fingers again.

From his time on the inside, Martin knew that Daley didn't have hit men within his organization; he always used outside contractors to do that type of dirty work. He did, however, have a tendency to use the same men over and over again. He was a drug-trafficking scumbag---but he was a loyal drug-trafficking scumbag. They had narrowed it to a list of fifteen names and were now tracking down the whereabouts of each possible suspect. Riggs scrolled down the computer screen.

"Derrick Katz is a no go--got busted in New York last spring--currently enjoying a little R&R at the federal pen."

"Good, the more names we can scratch off our list, the better."

"How many names does that leave?"

"Eight."

Martin nodded. "Not bad. It's a start anyway...Let's just hope he didn't find someone else to use this time."

Roger glanced at his watch. "ETA for those crime scene analysis reports from SID is later this afternoon."

He grabbed Riggs's jacket from the back of the chair, tossing it to him.

"We better slip out while we still have a chance."

Ten minutes later they stepped into the street, blinking in the bright sunshine like a pair of miners just emerging out of a tunnel. Riggs took in a deep breath, slapping his hands against his chest.

"Ah…that fresh Los Angeles air…nothing else quite like it…"

"That's them over there!"

Martin and Roger turned in the direction from where the shout came; watching as a predatory horde of reporters suddenly appeared and began stampeding down the sidewalk in their direction.

"Shit," Roger muttered, "the Captain wasn't kidding about the press."

Before Riggs could even reply, they found themselves surrounded.

"What's going on with the murder investi--"

"Have you got any leads to--"

"Can you tie anything back to Daley--"

"Do you think--"

The pack of them was yelling over one another, their voices growing louder, jockeying for a position in front, closing the circle around the two detectives tighter and tighter.

Riggs and Murtaugh stared at one another in astonishment, too stunned for a moment to do anything. Martin raised his hands, pushing a microphone away from his face.

"Wait a minute!" he shouted over the crowd. "I think we've got a case of mistaken identity here!"

The reporters suddenly quieted down. "What are you talking about?" one of them questioned.

Riggs gestured to Roger. "We're not involved in any murder investigation. Hell, we're not even cops."

Roger gave a sidelong glance to Martin, but his expression didn't change.

Perplexed looks spread over the reporters' faces as they glanced at each other, their notepads, at Riggs and Murtaugh. "What? You are too cops."

"No," Martin sighed, a mournful expression coming over his features."I'm here…. Because…I had to file a---a… missing house report."

Roger shot another glance at his partner, one eyebrow raising slightly as someone said, "A missing…house?"

"Well, yeah…this morning…uhmm…someone hitched up to my trailer and drove off with it…" He gave a sad shake of his head, biting his lower lip. "Everything gone…my friend here was a witness."

Martin turned to look at Roger.

"Uh…yeah. He's right," mumbled Roger. "Damnedst thing I've ever seen."

"Damnedst thing," repeated Riggs quietly, his sorrowful gaze sliding downward as he shoved his hands into the back pockets of his blue jeans.

"Oh, _PLEASE_," shouted a voice, "You're not fooling anyone."

Glancing up, Martin watched the crowd part, making way for a woman who elbowed herself furiously to the two detectives.

"You are Sergeant Martin Riggs, Robbery/Homicide Division," she said matter-of-factly.

Martin stared at her a moment, frowning slightly. She was sixty-ish, plump with straight grey hair bobbed at her shoulders and wearing enough bright makeup to qualify her as the wife of a televangelist. Despite the fact that she was five feet tall at best, she obviously carried a lot of weight by the looks the other reporters were giving. She gave a coy smile, one hand patting her hair.

"I'm sure you know who I am."

Riggs did vaguely recognize her from one of the TV channels although he couldn't remember which one it was. Over the course of his career, he had found himself watching the news less and less. After spending all day on the streets, the last thing he wanted was to see the nightly recap. It had an immensely unsettling effect on his system; as if he had just main-lined a ten-gallon drum of coffee. After Vicky died, he had stopped completely, usually leaving the TV on a comedy or movie channel.

Riggs gave a shake of his head, his expression turning annoyed. "And how do you know who I am?"

She smiled again. "I make it my business to know everything and everyone."

Her voice lowered, turning sugary sweet. "Besides, you aren't easy to forget."

Her head dropped downward as she looked up at Riggs, batting overly-mascared lashes. The terrifying effect was akin to a pair of hairy tarantulas waving hello.

Riggs took an involuntary step back; a slightly stunned look coming to his eyes as he realized the overly-painted matron was---_FLIRTING_---with him.

"Yeah…well--anyway--" He looked over to his partner who jumped in quickly.

"Anyway," Roger continued, "I don't care who we are or what we're working on. We have no comments." His voice grew even sterner. "Just leave us alone to do our job."

Grabbing Riggs by the elbow, he maneuvered him through the crowd and into the nearby car, quickly peeling out of the lot. There was about thirty seconds of silence before his giggles began to bubble up to the surface. Roger's shoulders shook with the effort of trying to rein the laughter in.

Riggs glanced over, his mouth pulling into a frown. He held a hand up.

"Don't _EVEN_ start, Rog."

Roger tried. He really tried. Well, maybe not _REALLY_. For once he wasn't the one on the receiving end and he was enjoying the role reversal. No way was he about to let this drop without a comment.

"Well, well," he smiled. "Looks like _SOMEONE_ has an admirer."

Martin shuddered as he turned to stare out the car window.

"I _SAID_ not to start."

"Hey, you should feel honored. She's practically like a celebrity."

Riggs twisted around in his seat. "You know her?"

"Oh, sure," nodded Roger. "She's an investigative reporter. A good one from what I hear…in the news all the time." Roger's smile widened. "You're gonna have your hands full---she's as tenacious as a pit bull."

Riggs's lip curled upward. "Yeah," he muttered under his breath, "she reminds me of a pit bull, alright."

Roger chuckled again. "Oh, come on, Riggs…older lady like that…might have a lot of experience in the art of love-making. Could be quite a treat." He waved a hand in Riggs's direction. "After all, you haven't had any love-life to speak of in quite a while."

Martin looked over, the warnings stirring in his eyes turning dangerously real. Roger clamped his mouth shut at Riggs's expression, returning his attention to the road. He knew he could push only to a certain point before fearing the consequences. And he didn't want to be the one responsible for putting Riggs in a bad mood.

"My treat," Roger said as he pulled into the coffee shop, hoping to smooth over his partner's mood.

"Damn right," grumbled Riggs. "_AND_ I want a couple of those big-ass jelly donuts too."

* * *

Martin stuck his head out the door of the police station, eyes scanning the busy street. The usual mix of people was rushing about, but there were no reporters in sight. Although the case was still receiving plenty of publicity, luckily for Riggs and Murtaugh, overall the media had the attention span of a spastic six year old on a major sugar rush. Within a week, most of the reporters had moved on to the next big story. And in LA there were always plenty to choose from. Satisfied, Riggs headed out, making a beeline for the hot dog vendor across the street. Roger had gone to pick up some reports from Ballistics and Riggs was taking the opportunity to sneak out for a quick 10:00 am chilidog snack.

"Hey, Riggs. How's it going?"

"Just dandy, Tony. Just dandy. Slap one of those together for me, will ya?"

The old man grinned as he held out a huge hot dog, the steaming contents spilling over the bun onto the paper wrapper. He gave a wink. "Started on it as soon as I saw your head poke out the door. Just the way ya like it. Extra chili and onions."

Riggs held his hand out, taking the hot dog eagerly.

"You really know how to treat a guy."

"Just looking out for my number one customer." The vendor gave a sad shake of his head, wiping both hands across his apron. "Damn kids these days, all they want is tofu and sprouts in pita bread."

Martin took a huge bite, thick chili dribbling down his chin. He gave a grin as he licked his fingers.

"You amaze me once again, Tony. You truly are the Julia Childs of hot dogs."

Tony gave an 'aw-shucks" look as he nodded his head appreciatively. Riggs took another bite.

"Oh, Sergeant Riggs!"

Martin's blue eyes widened as he recognized the voice calling out from behind him.

"Oh, God…no," he mumbled, his mouth still full of hot dog. "Do you see someone coming?"

Tony glanced over Riggs's shoulder, watching as a small figure made her way down the sidewalk.

"Yep."

"Short, grey-haired? Wearing enough makeup to supply a troop of clowns?"

"That's the one."

Martin's eyes rolled upward. "Shit…is it too late to hide? Ya got any room in the bun steamer? Maybe under the--" He closed his mouth, turning quickly as he sensed her approach.

"Hello, Sergeant Riggs."

Riggs frowned unpleasantly. "Well, well…if it isn't the newest bane of my existence."

She gave a girlish giggle, planting a hand on her hip.

"Actually the name's Nancy Ward. Don't you watch the news?"

"As a matter of fact, no I don't."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Never?"

"Never."

She studied him for a long moment, lips pursed together. "That seems a bit peculiar."

Martin stared back at her. "Trust me, I'm a peculiar kind of guy."

"Well, you certainly do have quite the reputation."

Grabbing a napkin from the hot dog stand, she quickly wiped it across Martin's chin.

"_CHRIST_, lady!!" He pushed her hand away. "_WHAT_ are you doing?!"

"Relax, Sarg. You've got chili on your face."

"Just _DON'T_ touch me!"

Riggs's eyes blazed as he snatched the napkin away.

Nancy hesitated, her bright smile faltering a bit under the blistering heat of Riggs's glare.

"Boy…they're right. You _ARE_ a temperamental one."

Riggs stared at her a moment longer, his expression as warm and inviting as a vat of acid. Turning away, he faced Tony, one hand digging into the front pocket of his jeans.

The old vendor gestured quickly, stopping him. "Don't worry, Martin. This one's on me."

Nodding his head in thanks, Riggs headed back down the sidewalk without another word. He could hear the "click-click" of her heels a step behind him. For a little lady she sure could walk damn fast. Nancy increased her speed even more, bringing herself even with Riggs.

"Please, Sergeant Riggs, I just want a moment of your time."

"Well, I don't have a moment to give you, lady. I'm kinda busy."

"I know you're busy. That's why I'm here…and please call me Nancy."

Riggs stopped short, turning to face her. It took every ounce of will power and training he possessed to resist the urge to swat at her like a pesky bug. He took a deep breath, both hands curling up tightly.

"Sixty seconds. What do you want?"

"I want to help. I can--"

Martin threw a hand up. "Oh, no," he said, shaking his head emphatically. "Stop right there. The last thing I want right now is some civilian interfering with my job. I get enough of that from my superiors. I don't need the headache--especially from a civilian who's also a reporter. Go investigate the mayor--investigate the police chief for all I care, he's a pain in the ass anyway -- but leave _ME_ alone."

Riggs quickly jumped out into the street, jaywalking back to police headquarters, blithely ignoring the blaring horns, the screaming threats, the screeching vehicles. He paused briefly, giving a wave and big grin to one driver with particularly imaginative hand signals, before hopping onto the sidewalk.

"Riggs, I oughta write your ass a ticket for that shit."

Riggs looked up as the uniformed cop marched down the stairs, coming to a stop by Martin's side. Ah, good ole Mac Simmons. One of the first cops Riggs had met when he started this crazy profession. Mac had been walking the beat for so long, one of the dangers he had had to face in his early days was probably flying pterodactyls. After graduating from the Academy, Martin had started patrol in Newton where Mac was stationed, then moved to patrol in Central, Vice in Wilshire, and then Narcotics, before ending up in the Robbery/Homicide Division at the Parker Center. Through all those changes, Mac had stayed in the same spot, wearing the same uniform, patrolling the same area. Riggs found something reassuring in Mac's steadfastness, in his unwavering dedication. They were the same qualities he respected in his own partner. Of course, Dr. Woods would probably have a field day analyzing his admiration for them, explaining how he was trying vicariously to achieve the stability that had always eluded him in his own life, blah, blah, blah... And although the garbage she spouted made him want to scream, Martin knew that there was truth behind such a statement. But he would rather poke his own eye out than admit Doc Woods was right about anything.

"Hey, Mac. How are the streets treating ya?"

"Other than my damn bunions, it's just great."

Riggs scratched his head, looking at the patrol cop. "When are you gonna retire, man?"

"And do what? Sit on my ass and watch 'Cops' all day, telling stories about the good ole times? No thanks to that. I'll retire when I fall over from a heart attack."

Grinning, Riggs poked a finger into Mac's abundant belly. "At the rate you're eating those donuts, that'll be sooner than you think."

Mac swatted at Riggs's hand irritably, muttering, "Jesus…you're worse than my wife."

He glanced up suddenly, a frown creasing his brow. "See what kind of trouble you cause, Riggs? Now you're corrupting normally fine upstanding citizens with your bad behavior."

Martin looked over his shoulder. Nancy Ward was crossing the street, darting in and out of the busy traffic like a demented little elf, her face set into a mask of grim determination as she headed straight for the two of them.

Riggs made an aggravated noise deep in his throat. "Oh, brother…Mac, you've gotta write her a ticket."

"You know her?"

"She's a reporter who's hell bent and determined to stick her heavily powdered little nose in my investigation."

Mac's frown deepened into a scowl. Like most members of the police force, he had little patience for the media, regarding them most of the time as an enemy rather than an ally. Turning back, he patted Riggs on the shoulder, smiling. "Don't worry, Martin. It'll be my pleasure."

He pulled out his summons book as Nancy approached.

"Alright, lady," he growled in his most threatening tone, "you've just earned yourself a ticket."

"What?!" Nancy stared at the patrol cop briefly, a stunned look on her face. Then she frowned, eyes glaring.

"I was just following him," she said, pointing an accusing finger at Riggs.

"Hey, don't blame me," Martin replied, gesturing with the blade of his hand. "I was on official police business."

"Official _POLICE_ business? You--you were getting a hot dog!" she sputtered indignantly.

Riggs crossed his arms over his chest, a profoundly serious look coming to his face.

"Yes, but Tony is an _OFFICIAL_ hot dog vendor for the LAPD…so according to Rule 29a, Section B, Subsection D1 of the police code handbook, any dealings with him are considered official police business."

Mac nodded in agreement, flipping open the summons book. "He's right, lady." He began to fumble through his pockets. "Hey, Riggs, can I borrow your pen?"

"I do not _BELIEVE_ this is happening!" Nancy stamped a size 4 ½ foot down on the sidewalk, hands on her hips. "You are actually going to write me a ticket?"

Mac cocked his head to one side, glancing first at Riggs then back at the reporter, still maintaining a stern frown. "Well…" he paused briefly. " I suppose I could let it slide this one time…_IF_ you're out of my sight within thirty seconds."

Nancy gave an understanding smile. "Oh, I see," she said with a toss of her head, then turned to Martin.

"I'll go for now, Sergeant, but it's going to take more than that to get rid of me permanently."

Riggs nodded grimly. "I believe it, lady. I've had a quicker time clearing up jock itch."

Nancy fanned herself with one hand, her smile growing even wider. "Oh, my, Sergeant…" Her voice suddenly dropped to a low conspiratorial whisper.

"Let's save talk about your private parts for a more special time, shall we?"

She looked up at him, dreamy-eyed, batting those goddamned lashes again. Her breath caught in her throat as Martin suddenly leaned in close, his dazzling baby blues an inch away.

"Sweetheart," he growled, "you better enjoy it now cause this conversation is as close as you're gonna get."

Nancy continued to smile, her expression undaunted.

"Never say never. I grow on people."

"Yeah? So do warts." Riggs glanced down at his watch. "Hey, Mac. I know those thirty seconds have got to be up by now."

Sighing, Nancy bowed her head in temporary defeat. "Okay, I'm leaving. But I'll be back."

Mac turned his head, watching as the reporter made her way down the street. Putting away the summons book, he gave a laugh. "Boy, Riggs---" He bit off the rest of the sentence as Riggs held a hand up, eyes glaring.

"Don't _EVEN_ start, Mac."

"Alright, alright." Mac was silent, chewing hard on his bottom lip, waiting impatiently as the doors finally closed behind Riggs. As soon as he knew it was safe, he headed down the sidewalk, hooting loudly with laughter.

* * *

Roger slowly hung the phone receiver back into the cradle, staring at it for a long moment.

"Hey, what's up?"

At the sound of Martin's voice, Roger looked back up. He gave a shake of his head.

"That was Murphy. We better get to his office. He wants to see us right away."

He paused, then gave another shake of his head, one hand readjusting his tie. "I think something's wrong."


	3. Chapter 3

Captain Murphy watched silently as Martin prowled back and forth…and back and forth…and back and forth, pacing from one side of his office to the other, shaking his head while loudly muttering obscenities. Under the circumstances, he considered Riggs's behavior remarkably restrained and had decided it was best to go ahead and let him blow off some steam before continuing with their discussion.

"I cannot fucking believe this!" Riggs stopped in mid-stride, turning to face Murphy. "How did this happen?"

The Captain's eyes flickered from Riggs to where Murtaugh sat in front of the desk, then back to Riggs.

"No one is exactly sure. All we know right now is the last time Daley was spotted was last night at his home. The patrol cars watching the house never saw him leave."

"But yet he's disappeared," replied Roger.

Murphy gave a weary sigh. "Yes."

"Unbelievable." By now Riggs had worked himself up into a full-blown rage. "Why in God's name was that bastard out anyway? What the_ FUCK_ were the courts thinking?"

Captain Murphy looked up, his mouth a tense line. "Riggs, he made bail. There wasn't much else we could do other than keep surveillance on him."

Riggs began to pace anew. "Security was tighter than a drum. David—fucking—Copperfield couldn't have escaped. What'd he do? Transport to a parallel universe?"

Murphy rubbed his face, a deep frown taking over his expression.

"If I knew the answer to that question, your ass wouldn't be in my office right now." His voice grew authoritative as the fingers of one hand pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Damn it, Riggs, sit down. All of your pacing is beginning to give me a migraine."

Still muttering, Riggs took the chair next to Murtaugh. He reached into his shirt pocket, extracting a pack of cigarettes and quickly lit one. Captain Murphy opened his mouth, poised to give Riggs one of his ass-chewings---ass-chewings that came as regularly on schedule as the sunrise---then changed his mind. What the hell…they were all upset by the recent turn of events. Even Roger stared off, completely oblivious to the smoke drifting over in his direction, his normal calm composure drawn up tightly. Roger's gaze focused back on the Captain.

"Now what?"

"Right now you keep proceeding as usual with your investigation. We have a task team that will be working with the FBI to find Daley. You just concentrate on finding his connection to those murders."

He frowned slightly as he looked over at Riggs. He was being quiet as a church mouse, slumped in his chair, staring sullenly at the end of his burning cigarette. It always gave him a jumpy, vaguely uneasy feeling when Riggs was silent like that.

"Riggs, you got any questions?"

Martin turned in his seat. Gave a shake of his head as he looked at his watch impatiently.

"Can we get back to what we were doing?"

Murphy's eyes narrowed warily. He sat there a moment, waiting for the shoe to drop, waiting for the outburst he knew was coming, waiting for one of those rants that had helped to convince most of the department that Martin Riggs was screwy in the head…waiting…but Riggs did nothing more than stare back at him wordlessly, his expression smooth as a quiet lake. Murphy finally sighed as he gave a wave of his hand.

"Dismissed. I want a progress report within the next 24 hours."

Nodding, the two detectives rose to their feet and left. They walked down the hall, no conversation passing between them, until Roger finally broke the silence with a gloomy sigh.

"This case just gets worse and worse. I don't know how---hey--hey, Riggs, where are you going?"

Roger came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the corridor, watching as Martin made a right hand turn instead of the left that would take them back to the squad room. When Riggs didn't answer, Roger broke into a trot, coming up to his partner's side. He reached out, grabbing Riggs by the arm, stopping him.

"Hey buddy---hold up a second. Where are you going?"

Martin heaved an exasperated sigh. When he looked over at Roger, his eyes were bitter hard.

"What do you think?" he asked sharply. "I'm gonna find that son-of-a-bitch."

Roger groaned loudly. Of course, it had been too much to hope for that Riggs would quietly go back to work, keeping his concentration on their own end of the investigation; that he would actually for once listen to Captain Murphy; that for once Roger wouldn't be dragged along on some wild chase, putting life and limb in danger. But no…that wasn't how things went when Martin Riggs was your partner.

"Martin---please be reasonable." Roger kept his voice level, calm. "I know you have a personal attachment to this case, but there is nothing we can do."

"The hell there's not!" growled Martin. He shook his arm loose from Roger's tight clasp. "There's plenty I can do."

"Riggs---You heard Murphy. Let's stay focused on our end of things."

"What good is it gonna do to tie Daley in with those murders if he's gone? Answer me that!"

Roger stared down at the polished linoleum floor for a few minutes, chewing on the inside of his mouth anxiously, trying desperately to come up with something to say…something that would talk some common sense into his headstrong partner. He finally looked back up at Riggs.

"LAPD has already assigned a task force to work on finding him…Shit, Riggs, they're bringing in the Fed's as well. I say let them handle it."

"Well, I have something different to say."

Roger held his partner's gaze for a long moment. He felt a ripple mixed of both fear and resignation run down his back as he saw the look in Riggs's eyes. _THAT_ expression he knew all too well. The expression that let Roger know it didn't matter what he said or did at this point because Riggs had made up his mind. And once his mind was set, that--- simply---was that. No room for arguments, no room for discussion, no room for debate. Roger was left with two choices. Go back to the squad room…or go along for a ride on the Riggs roller coaster.

Roger sighed.

* * *

"Holy shit…" Roger whispered as he swiveled his head about, taking in his surroundings. He had been inside a number of wealthy homes over his years of investigations, but never had he seen anything quite as opulent as what was now before him. Large aubusson rugs graced the highly polished marble floors that ran throughout the sprawling mansion. Every room was filled with antiques and wall tapestries with elaborate Italian crystal chandeliers hanging overhead. It had all been tastefully and traditionally decorated in an old world style that seemed to speak of a long lineage of family money instead of the drug trade.

A motion in the corner of his eye caused him to turn. He watched as Riggs flashed his shield to the uniform by the door then ducked under the police tape. Entering into the front foyer, he quickly made his way into the side room where Roger already was. Roger shook his head, giving a soft whistle as he turned to face his partner.

"Riggs, this place is absolutely amazing. Do you know what kind of porcelain that is on the table there? Just those few pieces alone are worth a fortune."

Riggs tilted his head to one side, an eyebrow angling downward. "Spending your free time watching 'The Antique Road Show', are we?"

"Trish is hooked on that program." Roger shrugged. "It's actually pretty interesting."

"Hmmm---hmmm…" Martin lifted a ceramic vase from its resting spot. As he turned it over, the piece slipped from his grasp, landing on the floor with a loud crash, a million pieces scattering across the slick marble surface.

"Oops…" His voice trailed off as he stared down at the vase, parts of its broken remains lying near his feet like a corpse. He looked back up at Roger, a devilish grin stretching across his face. "I can be _SUCH_ a butter fingers sometimes."

Sighing loudly, Roger rubbed the spot between his eyes, a pained look coming to his face.

"Riggs, you're not fooling anyone. You did that on purpose."

Riggs inhaled sharply, his whole manner turning visibly upset. "_SHOCKED_! Shocked I am at these allegations towards my character. I'll have you---"

"Can it, man." He shook his head in frustration. "You are incorrigible."

Martin's grin widened even more. "Ah yes…just like my ole Grandpappy use to say."

"Grandpappy?" harrumphed Roger. "Probably was more like your case worker at Juvie."

Martin's head cocked to one side, arms crossing over his chest.

"Oh? And what exactly makes you think that?"

Roger hitched his shoulders upward, cracking his neck gingerly.

"Just an educated guess."

"Har-de-har-har."

Riggs turned away, jerking a thumb over one shoulder. "If you think this house is something, wait until you get a load of the grounds out back. Especially the swimming pool area."

Roger's brows knitted together in bewilderment. "How would you know? You just walked in."

"I was undercover for ten months in this operation, remember?" Martin's tone sounded as if he was explaining something to a five year old. "I've been in this house before." He gave a shake of his head. "Jeez…that Alzheimer's is really starting to creep up on ya, huh?"

"Go spit, Riggs."

"Oh, that's nice. First you attack my moral fiber, now you swear at me…the things I have to put up with…"

Roger's eyes opened wide. "The things_ YOU_ have to put up with? What about---"

Riggs held a hand up, stopping Roger in mid-sentence. "Ah-ah-ah. No time for finger-pointing," he said. "That's not what we're here for."

"And _WHAT ARE_ we here for?"

"We're here to _DE-TECT_ clues, Rog. That's why we're called _DE-TEC-TIVES_."

Taking in a deep breath, Riggs began to walk around the room, hands on his hips, eyes darting about. "There has to be something here, Rog. Something to let us know where he's disappeared to."

"Talk about the proverbial needle in a haystack," muttered Roger. "Riggs, they've gone over every square inch of this damn castle---and with his money and connections, he could be anywhere by now. Probably on the beach in Brazil sucking down a damn piňa colada."

Roger turned away, giving his attention to the blown glass adorning the fireplace mantel. One of his fingers trailed along the side of a particularly delicate piece as he admired it.

"_SHIT!"_ yelped Roger, nearly knocking the sculpture over in panic as his elbow was suddenly grabbed. He turned quickly, startled to see Riggs standing inexplicably beside him when a mere second ago he had been on the other side of the room. How in the hell did he get over there without Roger hearing him? Goddamn it---all of Riggs's ninja stuff really got on his nerves sometimes. He looked into Martin's narrowed eyes, trying to remove himself from his partner's unyielding grip.

"Jesus, Riggs…you're crushing my goddamned elbow!"

Riggs glanced downward, a slightly embarrassed look creeping over his face.

"Sorry…" He dropped his hand.

"Gee…thanks…" grumbled Roger as he rubbed his arm, relieved to feel the blood begin to flow back into the appendage again. "_WHAT_ has gotten into you?"

Riggs stared at him for a long silent moment then crooked a finger, motioning for Roger to come along as he slipped back into the front foyer. Roger followed behind his partner, winding their way towards the back of the house where they veered off into another room. Roger stopped near the doorway, looking around. They were in what appeared to be Daley's study. The wood paneled room was filled with books and papers. Off to Roger's left was a stone fireplace, flanked by a pair of elegant leather wing-backed chairs. At the other end, facing away from Roger, stood Martin, one hand resting on a massive oak desk as he stared out of the french doors that lined the back wall.

Roger hitched his shoulders questioningly. "Okay…it's a very nice study. Why'd you bring me here?"

Martin slowly turned away from the doors. He looked up at Roger, his eyes burning with a cold fury. He pointed downward. "I was standing right here…" he murmured quietly but with emphasis, "…right here when Rick Hawkins was killed."

"Rick Hawkins?"

Martin turned away again. "There were three of us undercover…myself, Rick and Tony Rivera. We'd all been working together for two years in Narcotics when the department decided to use us on this assignment." He glanced at Roger briefly. "It was going to be a really tough detail…deep undercover. Dope didn't want to leave anything to chance. They'd already been trying to nail Daley for a number of years. So the three of us worked our way into Daley's organization…but we had no back up of any kind. No guns. No shields. Nothing to identify us as Narcs. Absolutely no contact with the department. I went almost an entire year without setting foot into a squad room." He shrugged. "But we were all young with enough street smarts and attitude to pull it off, y' know…"

There was a long moment of silence, as Martin stared off, his gaze thoughtful. He rubbed a hand across his jaw. "To this day, I don't know exactly what went wrong…but something happened…something tipped off Daley about Hawkins." He shook his head, eyes still looking off into the distance. "He had sent Rivera down to Mexico earlier that week so there was myself, Hawkins and four other guys here for a meeting."

Riggs's voice turned hard. "Let me tell you, that bastard is one smooth operator. I never picked up on anything…never detected that anything was out of sorts and I'm usually damn good at that."

His hand balled into a fist. "Daley was right in the middle of a sentence when he just pulled out a gun and shot Rick in the head." Martin drew in a deep breath. Exhaled forcefully. "I was standing right next to him…"

Roger stepped over to his partner. Laying a hand on his shoulder, he gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Martin, there wasn't anything that you could have done."

Riggs looked up, his expression indecipherable. He held Roger's gaze for a long time then gave a small nod. "I know…but it doesn't make me feel any better…"

Another long silence. Roger waited patiently, not daring to interrupt. Martin finally broke out of his thoughts, shaking his head in frustration. He began to pace back and forth in front of the glass doors, growing agitated. "Don't get me wrong. We knew what we were getting into. We knew the risks. The possibility that you could be found out was always hanging over your head. It was something you just lived with everyday working undercover in Narcotics. We went in knowing what could happen to any of us…" His voice trailed off.

He sighed. Shrugged his shoulders. "Right afterwards, the Department pulled me out. I protested like hell… but they were too afraid Daley would find out about me and they wouldn't risk it." His voice grew even more forceful, insistent. "Now suddenly after all this time I'm involved in this same case again. I feel like it's a second chance to put things right." His expression was practically pleading. "I have to do this. I can't just sit back."

Roger stared at Martin for a moment, no words passing between the two of them. He finally turned away, his eyes drifting over the lush, well-manicured grounds that unfolded out from the back of the house where they stood. He could feel his own stomach tighten with anger. "I understand," he said.

Martin glanced over. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Roger sighed. "Timothy Morrison. We were at the Academy together. Became real good friends. We both went to work patrol at Southeast after graduating." He frowned slightly as his own thoughts tumbled backwards into the past. "I guess we'd been on the beat for about six months when a code eight went out over the radio. It was just one of those nights…musta been a full moon or something. Weird shit was happening all over the place. One of our cars had gotten into the middle of a huge drunken brawl. Whole gang of teens was fighting and he needed backup to get it under control. My partner and I arrived about the same time as Timothy and his partner. About five minutes afterwards, things got even uglier. Timothy was trying to get cuffs on this one guy when he turned on him. Son of a bitch had a knife. Before any of us had a chance to do anything, he stabbed Timothy." Roger gritted his teeth. "He died there with me before EMS could arrive…He was a good, honest man. Married. Two small kids…I wanted to set things right more than anything. I didn't want him to die like that for nothing."

Martin looked over at his partner, his imploring eyes searching Roger's face.

"Does that mean you'll help me?"

Roger's countenance stiffened in determination. "I'll help you."


	4. Chapter 4

"Damn it…" Riggs muttered under his breath as his eyes quickly scanned the vast emptiness that made up the interior of his refrigerator. His stomach was demanding to be fed and it didn't like waiting. He pulled out a package of---something---from the back and gingerly unwrapped it. Hmmm…turkey meat. He gave it a cautious sniff. It seemed to smell all right. Peeling off a slice, he held it aloft then gave a loud sharp whistle. A minute later Sam came bounding in through the open sliding door of the trailer, his fluffy tail wagging eagerly. "Here ya go, boy." Riggs tossed the meat and Sam snatched it in mid-air, gulping the treat down quickly. He sat, staring up at Riggs, waiting patiently for another piece. Martin tossed another one out. Shrugged his shoulders. "Hey, if it's good enough for you, it's good enough for me."

By some amazing miracle, he actually had the remaining ingredients to make a sandwich. Afterwards he wrapped it in a paper towel, grabbed a beer and sat down on the floor, piles of papers surrounding him. He took a bite, one hand flipping through a police report, brow furrowed in concentration. His head jerked, his thoughts broken by the sudden ringing of the phone resting on the small card table by the kitchenette. It always startled him when that phone rang. Both the department and Roger usually used his cell phone number and other than them, Martin had no one else that would be calling him. At least not anyone he cared to talk to. He rose to his feet, looking down at the caller ID. The number was not one that he recognized. Probably a wrong number or most likely some damn solicitor trying to sell him---_VINYL SIDING_! ---or maybe a---_FREE TRIAL MAGAZINE SUBSCRIPTION_! Riggs sat back down. He had no patience for such things. Besides half the time when the salespeople called they had Vicky's name. And try as hard as he might, when that happened, it threw him into such a tailspin that it took at least the rest of the day for him to shake it.

Nope. Definitely no time for that. The phone stopped ringing. Riggs picked up the report he had been holding, trying to find where he had left off. The phone started ringing again. "Goddamn it!" he bellowed loudly. Sam stirred from his nap, looking up from his perch on the sofa. Throwing the papers down, Martin went back over. Same number. Even though he didn't know where it was coming from, he decided to pick up…and God help them…

"What?!" he answered brusquely.

"Hmm…Being our usual charming self, I see." cooed a familiar voice.

Riggs rolled his eyes irritably, taking a long pull off his beer. "Oh great…I would rather have taken the salesperson."

"Huh?"

"Never mind." Riggs could feel his temper already begin to heat up. He took in a deep breath, trying to get it under control before it completely boiled over. He figured he had to watch himself with this one. One bad move and she would probably write some scathing expose on him. God only knows there was plenty she could write about. "Look, lady…office hours are over, we're closed." He took a large bite of his sandwich, mumbling, "I'm right in the middle of a million things and you're blowing my concentration all to hell."

Riggs's brow suddenly knotted together into a frown. "Besides, I'm not listed. How you'd get this number?"

Nancy's girlish laugh tittered over the phone line. "I'm an _INVESTIGATIVE_ reporter, remember? You're not the only one who can find out such things, y' know." She paused briefly. "I heard about Daley disappearing. Pretty bad break, huh?"

"What can I say?" snapped Riggs, more prickly than he had intended. "Life's a bitch."

Nancy was silent for a moment. "Look, Sergeant," she said gently, "I know you and Daley go way back. I know how personally you're taking this. I want to help."

"I need your help like I need a case of hemorrhoids." Riggs rubbed his forehead, trying to fight the headache that was threatening at any moment to erupt like Mt. Vesuvius. "Seems like I heard something about an UFO landing out in Death Valley. Why don't you go check it out?"

"Sergeant Riggs, I don't work for the National Enquirer." Gone was the girlish lilt, replaced by a sharp, professional demeanor. "Just because I think you're an absolute honey, doesn't mean I don't know how to do my job. I'm as good at what I do as you are at your profession. I've been following Daley for years. LAPD does a fine job, but they have a million cases to deal with. I have been concentrating on him for a long time. And I know you're a great detective but you haven't even been involved with this case for years. It's going to take you too long to catch up on all the developments. He'll be gone before then." She paused, taking in a deep breath. "I think I know where he may be."

Riggs snapped to attention, hand dropping by his side. "What?" he asked, his voice urgent. "Where?"

"Hold on, cowboy. Not so fast. You're not the only one with time invested in this. If you want it, I get to come along for the ride."

Riggs hesitated, mind racing. What the hell…she was a grown woman. _VERY_ grown as a matter of fact. She knew the risks in getting involved. And he _HAD_ to find Daley.

"Okay," he consented.

She gave a sigh of relief. "Okay. I'll bring what I have over to your place. See ya in a bit."

"Don't you want directions?"

Another giggle. "Oh, I'll find it."

* * *

Nancy perched tentatively on the edge of Riggs's faded sofa, both arms tightly hugging the mound of papers resting in her lap. She swiveled her head around, examining her surroundings with a slightly apprehensive look.

"Well, Riggs," she finally said, "your place certainly is…is---uhmm-----quaint."

Her eyebrows arched upward. "Very…cozy."

Riggs snickered under his breath. "It works for me." He gestured with one hand. "Don't mind the underwear…I have my own schizophrenic method of organization."

"No problem…I just hope they're clean." She kicked at the newspapers cluttering the floor by her feet, her brow crinkling up. "How can you be sure that there's not something alive hiding underneath all this mess?"

"I can't be." Riggs snapped his fingers impatiently. "Enough about my lack of housekeeping skills. Do you have information for me or was this all just an elaborate ploy to get into my place?"

Nancy rested her chin in the palms of her hands, a dreamy look slipping across her heavily painted features. She giggled, head tilting downward. "Well…it is nice to have an excuse…"

Riggs sighed quietly under his breath. Oh, what the hell, he thought. He knew he could be the charmer when he wanted. Might as well play the card while he had it. Stepping over to the sofa, he leaned down, tapping Nancy on the arm. Her head raised back up as he gave her his most dazzling smile.

"Nancy," he said in a low but firm voice, "the information…please."

She stared, lost for a moment within the depths of the pair of twinkling blue pools before her. His hand was still resting lightly on her arm and the touch of it was enough to make her head reel dizzily. God, what she wouldn't give to be twenty-five years younger. Clearing her throat nervously, Nancy managed to tear her eyes away, looking around the untidy trailer. "Right, right…where should I put it all?"

Straightening up, Riggs lifted the stack of papers from her lap, placing them on the card table.

Nancy rose from the sofa and went to stand next to him. "I have a lot of stuff to sift through."

She glanced into the small kitchenette.

"Don't you have any chairs?"

"Nope."

A sigh. "Hmmm…I guess I'm not surprised. Would it be possible to at least get something to drink?"

"Sure. I'm not a complete Neanderthal." Riggs stepped over to the refrigerator. Opening it, he ducked his head in. "What do you want? Beer, beer or beer?"

"_THOSE_ are my choices?"

Riggs continued to stare into the refrigerator's innards, one hand scratching his head in a sudden case of minor embarrassment. "There is some milk…" he finally admitted, "but it's beginning to look more like cottage cheese now…"

Nancy shook her head, clucking her tongue softly. "I don't think I've ever met anyone…" She sighed. "You really need a woman's touch around this place, Sergeant."

Straightening up, Martin slammed the refrigerator's door harder than it needed to be.

"I get by just fine." His words were bit off curtly, leaving no room for doubt that the conversation was finished. He pointed to the table. "Let's just get down to business."

* * *

Roger hopped into his car, nearly sloshing the contents of the coffee cup all over his pants in his haste. Sighing, he began to breathe deeply, consciously slowing down his movements. He took in another calming breath and adjusted the drink into the vehicle's cup holder. One would think that after being partnered with Riggs for so long that he would be used to it. Used to the craziness, used to the calls at odd hours dragging him from the house into God only knows what kind of trouble. But it still threw him off balance temporarily when those things happened. And, of course, it was happening once again.

He had settled in for the evening, enjoying his daily ritual for decompressing from the workday stress. The ritual included his comfy leather recliner, the newspaper and the TV remote---along with a Diet Coke and Maalox---the magical potion that neutralized the effects of the dinner he had ingested earlier. It had turned out to be an especially tranquil evening since all the kids were out and about elsewhere and Trish had decided to go shopping. For once he had the entire house to himself and it was like a little slice of heaven on earth. Leave it to his nutty partner to disturb the peace once again. They went through their usual song and dance---Riggs talking a mile a minute, Roger arguing, Riggs getting himself even more worked up, and Roger finally relenting. The pattern seldom varied but it was one that seemed to work for the two of them. After giving a quick call to Trish on her cell phone, he grabbed his gun and shield and headed out the door.

He drove quickly through the fading light, one eye glued to the road, the other trying to decipher the directions he had hastily scribbled on a kitchen paper towel. By the time Roger pulled into the parking lot of the diner Riggs had sent him to, the transition to nighttime had long been completed. His gaze raked across the scenery, double-checking for signs of trouble, but everything seemed in order. Just your typical rundown greasy spoon, a few cars out front and a few people inside---getting massive cases of heartburn, no doubt. He saw Riggs's pickup truck over to the side, parked in the shadows. He pulled into the empty spot next to it. Why Riggs had directed him here, he had no idea; but when had he ever understood the way his partner's mind worked? And, besides, would he really want to? Adjusting his coat over the bulge of his shoulder holster, Roger stepped out of the vehicle and went inside. After the darkness of the night, the bright florescent lights made him blink rapidly but he still saw Martin's waving hand directing him to a corner booth.

"Alright, Riggs…why did you drag my ass all the way out here?" He gestured sharply. "This better be damn good. I was _REALLY _enjoying my evening."

Riggs looked up from the plate of hamburger and fries he was in the process of devouring.

"Sorry to have disturbed you, Rog," he muttered sarcastically, twirling a finger in the air. "But unfortunately the criminal elements of our fine city don't keep a 9-5 schedule."

"All's the pity," Roger grumbled under his breath as he sat down heavily in the booth; his expression quickly changing as he noticed the used coffee cup next to him.

"You brought along a friend?" He motioned to the object.

Riggs made a sour face. "Hardly. But I did bring a source of information."

"Hey, wait a minute…" Roger picked the cup up, turning it slightly as he pointed to the copious amount of bright red lipstick smeared along its edge. He looked back at his partner in disbelief. "Don't tell me…"

A small grin jumped across Riggs's features. "What can I say…" he murmured, shrugging. "Sometimes you have to make a deal with the devil."

"I guess if there's anyone strong enough to handle it, it would be you." Roger whistled softly. "Where is she?"

"Right behind you, Sergeant Murtaugh."

Roger jumped slightly at the sound of a voice right in his ear. Glancing over his shoulder, he locked gazes with a grinning, freshly lipsticked, coiffed and powdered Nancy. Her smile widened as she sat down, scooting up next to him.

"Well, if Riggs is president of my fan club, it sounds like you must be vice-president."

She fluffed her hair dramatically like a queen about to walk down the red carpet before her admiring subjects. Other than rolling his eyes, Roger ignored her, turning his attention to his partner, watching him chow down on the last bite of hamburger.

"Riggs, I hope you didn't call me to watch you eat. I get to see this show every day."

Pointing to the nearly empty plate, Nancy shook her head. "That's his second one. Can you believe it?"

Roger grunted. "I'm the one usually responsible for feeding that endless pit, so yes, I can believe it."

"Just building up my strength," replied Martin, motioning to the waitress for the check. "We've got some work ahead of us."

"Speaking of which…" Roger frowned irritably, splaying his hands out. "You still haven't told me why I'm here."

Martin shoved a handful of fries into his mouth, pointing to Nancy. "Well," he said washing the food down with a swig of Coke, "our little reporter here knows where Daley is hiding out."

"Most likely hiding out," demurred Nancy, bowing her head down in a sudden and uncharacteristic attack of modesty. "I don't know for absolute. And Riggs wanted to wait for you before checking it all out."

One of Roger's eyebrows arched high, disbelief spreading over his face. "You _ACTUALLY_ decided to wait for me? Not just charge in by yourself, all gung-ho with guns blazing?" He folded his hands together. "Goodness, Riggs---you're almost showing some sound judgment to your thought process."

Riggs frowned indignantly. "Hey, no need to insult me. I just thought you might like to come along for the fun."

"Yeah? Well your idea of fun definitely doesn't jibe with MY idea of fun." Sighing, Roger rubbed a hand across his forehead. "But somebody has to keep an eye on you…" He glanced away for a long moment, conflicting emotions showing in his eyes. Mind finally made up, he pressed his lips together, turning back to Riggs.

"Alright, what's our plan?"

Riggs rubbed his hands, his grin turning wicked.


	5. Chapter 5

Well, no doubt about it…the dress slacks Trish had _JUST_ bought him were ruined. Roger fingered the gaping hole that had appeared in his pants leg after crawling through a thicket of brambles behind Riggs. Roger frowned grumpily. _THIS_ is what he got for going along. He looked back up. It was nearly pitch black, the half moon that had risen in the cloudy sky was giving off the faintest silvery light---just enough so that Roger could make out the shadowy figure of his partner crouched nearby.

They had left Nancy behind at the diner, then after parking off a deserted country road nearby, had proceeded to hike through what felt like miles of dense forest. That's right, Roger thought to himself, _GODDAMN_ forest…And to make matters even worse, the night had come in cold with a biting wind and the recent rains had turned the ground of the small clearing where they were standing into a quagmire. Drawing his jacket tighter around him, Roger pulled a foot out of the gelatinous mud; the action followed by a loud sucking noise as the muck grudgingly released its catch. That's nice---now his goddamn shoes were probably ruined as well.

"Damn it, R---"

Martin turned quickly, hushing Roger with a sharp gesture. He was all business now, focused only on one thing---like a lion sniffing out its prey---no time for idle chit-chat. Roger hunched down by his partner's side.

"Riggs," he hissed furiously, "you didn't mention anything about a goddamn nature hike."

Chuckling softly, Martin dropped a small knapsack onto the ground in front of him. He had pulled it out of his truck earlier, carrying it on his back through their trek.

"Come on, Rog. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Sense of adventure? I've stayed partnered with_ YOU_ all this time, haven't I?"

"Ouch," whispered Riggs, teasingly, one hand clutching at his chest, "that one hurt."

Roger ignored him, wincing as he readjusted his position. His whole body was screaming at him in protest for this cruel and unusual treatment he was inflicting on it. He massaged the knot forming at the base of his neck. He was _DEFINETELY_ too old for this shit.

"I hate this outdoor crap," he muttered.

Giving a shake of his head, Martin began digging through the knapsack.

"Then you musta really hated your tour-of-duty."

"Despised it," he growled under his breath, pulling his collar closer around his neck. "Glad I got shot."

Standing back up, Roger peered over Martin's shoulder. "What ya got there?"

"Oh…just my version of Santa's little sack of goodies." Riggs pulled out an object, handing it to his partner with a flourish worthy of any hammy stage magician.

Roger's eyes widened in wonder. "Night vision binoculars?"

"Yeah," nodded Martin. "With a built-in infrared illuminator…should come in very handy on a night like this."

"Jeez…you're like James Bond…if he were crazy and had a poor sense of fashion."

Riggs's expression turned puzzled. "What's wrong with my sense of fashion?"

Roger opened his mouth. Then closed it. "Never mind."

Shrugging, Riggs rose to his feet. "According to Nancy's info, the cabin should be right on the other side of this ridge. I'm gonna get a better look."

He hung the binoculars around his neck, then grabbing the branch of a nearby tree, hoisted himself up into its limbs with a feline grace, quickly disappearing from view. Roger waited in the darkness until Martin's whisper broke through the silence.

"Bingo."

Even from down below, Roger could make out the gleeful satisfaction underlining his partner's voice.

"You see him?" he whispered up into the branches.

"Yeah, the son-of-a-bitch is there." He paused. "Five heavy-hitters around him."

After about fifteen minutes, Martin finally dropped to the ground, landing softly next to Murtaugh. Roger looked over at him, a deeply serious expression taking over his features.

"Five, huh? How are they set up?"

"Four outside patrolling the nearby woods and one stationed on the cabin porch -- all carrying semi-automatic weapons."

"Terrific…" sighed Murtaugh. "What's the plan?"

"The plan…?" Riggs voice trailed off as he scratched his head, staring into the inky blackness that enveloped the two of them.

Roger took in a deep breath. "You don't have a plan, do you?"

Martin rolled his eyes, making a small exasperated motion with his hands. "Of course I do. I just…haven't worked out all of the finer details yet."

"I see. Alright then, what's the overall plan?"

"That's easy. Take out the five goons and nab Daley."

Roger's mouth thinned into a tense frown. "Oh, _THAT_ easy."

"Right…easy." A determined smile from Riggs. "Piece of cake."

"Right…piece of cake."

Roger gave a small groan as he analyzed their current situation. He did have to admit, it certainly was no worse than a number of jams Riggs had dragged him into in the past…and a hell of a lot better than many of them. Besides, the problem was, there was no way of refunding his ticket on this ride. Once he'd gone this far along there really was no stopping.

"Oh, what the hell," he finally muttered. "I'd hate to have crawled through these woods for nothing."

Martin's smile turned relieved.

"That's the spirit, Rog," he said, patting him on the shoulder. "You won't regret it."

* * *

"One down…four to go…" Martin whispered, brushing his palms together over the limp figure lying at his feet.

Reaching inside of the knapsack, Roger pulled out some rope and quickly hog-tied the unconscious form.

"Congratulations," he said softly as he wrapped a tight gag around the man's mouth. "You're improving. You actually managed not to kill this one."

Riggs grinned. "And you say I never listen to you." He knelt down by his partner, one hand yanking at the rope. "Good job, Rog," he said admiringly. "He's trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey."

"Let's not pat ourselves on the back quite yet…he was the easy one---guarding the outermost perimeter." Roger jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "We've still got four left."

"We've faced worse odds than that."

Roger nodded his head thoughtfully. "True."

"Besides, Rog, we have the element of surprise on our side." Riggs gave a wink as he stood back up.

"Be right back. It's hunting season for drug dealers and I haven't meet my limit yet."

Before Roger had a chance to reply, Riggs melted into the shadows again, leaving him alone with their prize.

Twenty minutes later, four motionless figures lay crumpled on the ground, hands and feet tied together, mouths securely gagged. Roger triple checked their bindings, then finally satisfied, went to join his partner. Riggs had crawled further away from the clearing, lying flat on his stomach, hidden down in the underbrush. He turned his head slightly, looking over at Murtaugh as he slid up beside him. Giving a small nod, Riggs handed the binoculars over. Roger peered into the lens.

He found himself looking at what appeared to be a small rundown hunting cabin, tucked into a thick grove of trees, a small stream running along its northern side. One guard strode back and forth along the front porch. Roger could catch the glint from his weaponry as he turned from direction to direction. A faint pool of light spilled out from the interior of the cabin, but he couldn't make out any details inside.

"I can't see anything inside," Roger whispered. "You're sure that you saw him?"

"Absolutely. That guy's not outside guarding against coyotes. The bastard is in there." Martin's hand curled into a fist. "God, I want to rip his heart right out of him."

"Take it easy, Riggs," murmured Roger, patting him on the arm. "Right now the question is, how do we proceed from here?"

"First we need to get rid of the guy on the porch…After that it'll be smooth sailing. Hmmm… We just need to be quick since I don't know how often they were checking in."

Taking back the binoculars, Martin stared at their target a moment then gave a satisfied click of his tongue. "Alright," he said in a low voice, "the clearing ends about six feet away from the cabin then it's nothing but thick woods. You're gonna create a diversion over at---"

"Damn it," groaned Murtaugh, "how come _I'M_ the one who always has to create a diversion?"

Riggs cut through the air with the edge of his hand, eyes narrowing. "Fine, Rog, fine. I'll create a diversion and _YOU_ bring him down, if that's what you want."

Roger stared at his partner a moment then heaved a sigh. "Oh…all right," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"Uhhh--uhhh," replied Riggs, lips pursed together. "That's what I thought." He pointed in front of them. "We need to get him off the porch. If you can get him to the edge of the clearing then that'll give me the chance to take him out."

"Okay, let's go."


	6. Chapter 6

Roger sat quietly in the mud, crouched on his knees within a large clump of bushes. After a painstakingly slow and nerve-wracking crawl, he had positioned himself about five feet from where the land cleared out around the cabin. Once he had gotten there, he was to give Martin a few minutes to make sure he was in position and then start his diversion. Roger frowned. With his luck, once he started making a noise, the son of a bitch would probably just begin firing. He glanced at his watch. It was time. Damn it, Riggs, he thought, this better work. Grabbing a hold of the nearest bush, he gave it a violent shake.

The guard reacted immediately. Whirling around, he leveled his weapon in Roger's direction. Oh God, _PLEASE _don't shoot…Roger thought to himself….Come one, just get your ass over here to check it out. He shook the bush again, a bit softer this time. After a moment's hesitation, the man stepped down, slowly making his way in the direction of the sound, eyes scanning back and forth, finger on the trigger. Roger held his breath as the goon inched closer and closer to his hiding place. He was standing at the edge of the clearing now, dangerously close to where Roger was lying. Come on, Riggs….Despite the cold, Roger could feel beads of sweat pop out across his forehead…Where are you, Riggs?…Shit, I don't wanna die like th---

Roger detected a sudden movement to the right, in his peripheral vision and he quickly pushed himself even farther down into the mud. The guard saw it as well, but reacted too slowly. He turned just in time for Riggs's boot to catch him full force in the jaw. There was a low popping noise as he fell into a crumpled heap without ever uttering a sound. Riggs dropped quickly to the ground, lying prone, eyes focused on the cabin, Beretta drawn. After a moment, it became apparent that the cabin's occupants hadn't heard the confrontation. Reaching over, Riggs grabbed the man's weapon, slinging it over one shoulder. He carefully dragged the body under a nearby bush then slithered over to Roger's hiding place.

"Do we need to tie him up?"

"Him?" Martin glanced over to where he had left the guard. "No, we don't have to worry about him."

Roger shook his head. "You just had to go and kill somebody didn't you?"

"God, are we really gonna argue about this _NOW_?" growled Riggs. "We probably have a few minutes at best before Daley realizes the front guard is gone."

"Actually you don't even have that."

Riggs and Murtaugh froze as the whispered voice drifted from behind them.

"Son of a bitch…" The two of them glanced over their shoulders at a figure hidden among the shadows.

Riggs sighed through gritted teeth. "Where were you?"

"Actually, I just got here." He gave a low amused chuckle. "Don't beat yourself up too badly. It was pure luck that I hadn't gone up to the cabin yet when you arrived. Otherwise I would have missed you."

"My lucky day," muttered Roger.

The man's voice grew hard. "Get up."

* * *

The interior of the small one room cabin was completely barren except for a table and four chairs set up near the center. On one side of the table, sat Riggs and Murtaugh, hands tied to the chairs' backs. On the other side of the cabin, Daley and the last remaining guard stood, quickly conferring on their plans.

"Everything is ready, sir."

"Good, good. Go ahead and get the car."

"What about the other men?"

Daley hesitated, a frown deepening his brow. "Leave them. We're running out of time." Daley glanced over his shoulder at the two captives. "Just get the car and I will take care of our guests."

"Yes, sir." The guard turned on his heel and disappeared out the door.

Roger gave a small, discreet tug, his shoulders sagging downward as he realized there was no way he would be able to free himself. The guard had bound them up so tightly, he had already begun to lose feeling in his hands. He looked over to his partner.

"I _THOUGHT_ you said this would be a piece of cake."

Wincing, Martin tried in vain to readjust his position into a more comfortable one.

"Rog, you're hearing things. I never said that."

"_WHAT!?"_ bellowed Roger. "Yes you did!"

"Must be an old age thin—"

"Alright, you two," snarled Daley, "shut the hell up before I just decide to shoot you both."

Riggs's eyes narrowed as he looked upward. "Isn't that the plan anyway?"

A small smile came across Daley's features. "Ah…you know me so well, don't you…?"

As soon as the smile had appeared, it faded. "And why shouldn't you, right?" Daley began to pace the floor, still pointing the gun at the two detectives. "After all, didn't I bring you into the family? Didn't I trust you? Didn't I treat you like a son?" The pitch of Daley's voice raised a notch, his countenance growing even darker.

Riggs just gave a disgusted shake of his head, eyes boring into the drug dealer.

"Oh yeah…some father. Nothing like having murder, drugs and prostitution inscribed on the family crest."

Daley's twisted smile reappeared. "Well, every family has to have some hobbies."

He sat down at the table across from the two men. "Besides, Riggs, I am in no mood to be judged by you. Despite your badge, I find us quite similar."

Martin's hands clenched into tight fists as he pulled furiously against his restraints. "You and I are nothing alike!" he spat out vehemently, yanking even harder.

"Tsk, tsk…such a temper." Daley rubbed a hand across his jaw, staring intently at Riggs. "Tell me, does the Department know that you're here? Hmm?"

No answer. After another long moment of silence, Daley gave a nod of his head. "Just as I figured. You always were one for doing things your way---fuck what anybody else had to say about it."

His expression rearranged itself into a smirk. "Like I said, maybe you've got a badge but that doesn't mean you're any different."

"We're goddamned cops," growled Roger, "and if you kill us you'll only be making things even worse for yourself."

Daley waved Roger's comment away, his eyes rolling derisively. "Oh, please…killing the two of you will be nothing but a pleasure. Especially you, Riggs." Daley's attention turned to the other detective. "I do have to admit," he continued, "I am somewhat motivated by my ego. I couldn't believe that you had fooled me." He paused as he scratched the side of his face with the gun barrel, his expression turning amused. "My God, it must have just about killed you when I shot him and there wasn't a damn thing you could do about it." His smile grew wider, obviously quite pleased with himself. "What a wonderful little bonus that turned out to be."

Riggs struggled against his bonds in fury, his heels digging into the dirt floor of the cabin, but it was futile. After another minute, he finally stopped, his chest heaving from the effort. He looked up, leveling a calm, hateful gaze towards Daley.

"Just cut me loose, you son-of-a-bitch," he said in a low voice, "and then let's see who's left laughing."

Daley scooted his chair in closer, propping his elbows onto the surface of the table. "Oh, I don't think so, Riggs. One of the reasons I've been so successful is by making smart decisions. And I think we both know what the only outcome to this situation will be." He leveled the gun from across the table, the barrel pointed directly at Riggs's forehead. "And despite what your partner seems to think, killing two cops is not going to complicate things for me. LAPD won't have any more luck connecting me to your murders than they did with all the others." Daley stopped for a moment, the smug look on his face growing even more self-satisfied by his victory. "Life _IS_ sweet, "he murmured, smiling, eyes closing tight.

The moment lasted for only a brief second, but it was all the time that Riggs needed. As Daley closed his eyes, Riggs quickly raised both legs and kicked them outward, shoving the table hard into the other man's midsection. The gun discharged, the bullet just missing Riggs's head and digging into the wall of the cabin as Daley tumbled backwards, Riggs falling over as well from the force of his own kick.

"_SHIT!"_ Roger hurled himself to one side, crashing against the floor, legs flailing. The impact of Daley's fall caused him to lose his grip and the gun slid across the floor, Roger managing to throw his body on top of it.

"_YOU FUCKER!"_ yelled Daley as he rose to his feet. Leaning over, he grabbed Roger by the collar, punching him in the jaw. He struggled to pull Murtaugh off the weapon as Roger continued to wiggle, trying to escape from Daley's grasp. Still lying on his side, tied to the chair, Riggs managed to slide across the floor, reaching the two men just as Daley landed a series of vicious blows to Roger's temple. Martin threw one foot behind Daley's right calf and with as much force as he could muster, quickly kicked his other foot across the front of Daley's right knee. He went down with a scream, the kneecap busted.

And then that was when the earthquake hit---or at least Roger thought it was an earthquake. The entire place began to shake violently and Roger watched as the front wall cracked wide open. He stared at it, trying to focus through the dust filled air, finally realizing that it was the front of a car peeking through the cabin's wall. Grunting, Roger rolled onto his knees, kicking the gun over to the other side of the room. He glanced quickly over one shoulder, seeing that Martin had already risen to his feet and was standing over the writhing drug dealer.

"You _FUCKING_ bastard!" the man howled, both hands clasped tightly over his knee. "You've_ FUCKING_ crippled me!"

Riggs quickly placed a cowboy boot on Daley's throat and began pressing down. "I'll just put you out of your misery then."

"Riggs!… Don't, man."

Martin looked over at Roger, his glacier eyes impenetrable, still increasing the pressure on Daley's windpipe. The two detectives locked stares for a long moment then…suddenly Riggs released his hold. He turned away with a sigh just as two patrol cops came through the door, guns drawn.

"He's right over here," barked Riggs, "and would someone _PLEASE_ untie me from this goddamn chair!?"

"I'll take care of that."

Riggs and Murtaugh turned, watching as Nancy came through the door of the cabin. Grinning, she stepped up to Martin. Tilted her head as she stared at him.

"I don't know," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, "To tell the truth, I'm kinda liking you all tied up like that."

One of Martin's eyebrows arched upward. "Nan-cee…" he said admonishingly.

"Oh, all right…" Nancy's mouth drew into a pout as she began fumbling with the ropes. "God, these are tight," she muttered, struggling to untie them.

Riggs jerked his head towards the destroyed cabin wall, the two headlights of the car winking at them as if they were all in on some big joke. "Your handiwork?"

"You like?"

"Quite impressive."

She smiled proudly. "I had to create some kind of diversion and it was the only thing I could come up with at the moment."

"Works for me." Riggs looked over his shoulder, watching as more patrol cops poured into the cabin. "Even brought the boys in blue, I see."

"I know…I know…you're not a back up kind of guy, but I was scared to death. I just knew that asshole was going to kill the both of you. I didn't know what else to do." A soft laugh bubbled up from her. "Although it does look like you had everything under control."

She pulled the last of the bindings free, the chair dropping to the floor. Riggs shook out his hands, rubbing the rope burns that crisscrossed his wrists. His eyes darkened angrily as he watched two cops hauled a moaning and handcuffed Daley to his feet, dragging him out to a waiting black and white. A large hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder. Turning around, Riggs faced his partner.

Roger gave a faint smile. "Well, I think that's over," he murmured, giving his shoulder another pat.

Martin nodded silently, his brooding gaze sliding downwards. He took in a shaky breath, trying to control the wrath he could still feel swirling inside of him. He knew that if Roger hadn't of stopped him, he would have killed Daley. And he also knew that Roger knew it as well. He cleared his throat, not really sure what to say. After a second, he looked back up.

"You did good, Rog."

"Shit, you're the one that brought him down." Roger rubbed a hand across his jaw. "Just glad you could do it before he made mincemeat of my face."

A trace of a smile from Riggs, one eyebrow raising sarcastically.

"Well, we certainly wouldn't want anything to happen to that pretty mug of yours, now would we?"

Roger grinned. He looked around the cabin briefly. "Overall, I'd say this turned out pretty well. We're still alive, which is a major plus…Daley will be going back into custody and even if we can't nail him for the murders, we've got him on a whole load of new charges."

"Well, actually it may have turned out even better than you think."

A puzzled expression came over Roger as he looked at his grinning partner. "What do you mean?"

His bewilderment grew even deeper as he watched Martin begin to unbutton his shirt then his mouth gaped open as his eyes fell upon the wire taped to the midsection of Riggs's torso.

"I don't believe it! You were wired?"

By now, Riggs's grin was stretching from ear to ear. He looked over to Nancy.

"How did it go? Did you get everything?"

Nancy nodded enthusiastically. "Sure did. Daley just handed a whole lotta rope over to the prosecutors. I feel sure he managed to say enough to hang himself."

"Beautiful, man. Just beautiful."

"I'll second that," said Riggs as he ripped off the wire and started to button his shirt back up, ignoring the longing stares Nancy was throwing his way. As the last button was refastened, Nancy's chin dropped to her chest, a huge sigh rushing through her.

The corners of Riggs's mouth pulled upward slightly, his eyes cutting over to Roger who motioned sympathetically towards the reporter. "She did help us find Daley," he said.

Riggs glare turned sharp. "Oh dear God…" he finally muttered. "Okay…one little peck."

Nancy's head jerked back up, eyes hopeful. "You mean it?"

Without another word, Martin leaned over, planting a big one square on her lips. He straightened back up, forcing down his own smile as Nancy giggled, one hand twirling a lock of hair. Still giggling like a love-struck teenager, she took the wire from Riggs.

"I'll get the tapes for you," she murmured, her gaze raking over Riggs from head to toe one last time before she slipped out the door.

Roger rested his hands on his hips, watching as she disappeared from view. He turned to his partner, giving him a slap on the back.

"Boy, Riggs," he said, a teasing twinkle lighting his eyes, "must be tough being so devilishly handsome."

Riggs shrugged, heading outside with a heavily dramatic sigh. "Well…I guess we all have our crosses to bear."


End file.
